Vio. I think not so, my lord.
Duke. Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound:
I know, thy constellation is right apt
For this affair:—Go:—prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.
[Exeunt Duke, Curio, Valentine, and Gentlemen.
Vio. I'll do my best,
To woo his lady: yet,—a barful strife!—
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Clown and Maria.
Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.